


Veni etiam

by storylinecontinuum



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, inspired by The Passion by Jeanette Winterson, probably ooc Italy, they're in Venice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:34:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24664699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storylinecontinuum/pseuds/storylinecontinuum
Summary: The first mistake I made was seeing his skin in the moonlight. The second was seeing him shiver. I didn’t know a man like him could shiver. He always seemed like he vibrated faster than life and life couldn’t touch him for it. But he felt cold in my city, lost one evening wandering the meandering waterways and caught unawares by the sea breeze.
Relationships: England/North Italy (Hetalia)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 50





	Veni etiam

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文-普通话 國語 available: [[翻譯]喜鵲與王冠](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24740827) by [Ratouin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ratouin/pseuds/Ratouin)



> England is in Venice for some kind of diplomatic exchange. Adding this here because the fic doesn't really explain his presence.
> 
> As mentioned in the tags, this was inspired by Jeanette Winterson's The Passion. That book has the most surreal and beautiful descriptions of Venice and I quickly typed this piece out after I finished it. Hope you enjoy

I don’t like the way his pale skin looks in my sun-kissed city.

I like what my city does to him though. Suddenly he’s wavering and unsure, wary of the waterways and confused by their paths. I’ve had to pick him up so many times, he gets lost for hours on end and he’s always apprehensive when I find him. The moment he feels safe in the boat he starts yammering. Complaining. He has the ability to criticize everything, I wonder if he realizes that’s cost him the most precious thing in his life.

He says he’s never seen such claustrophobic waters. Our gondolas are too small for his ego.

______

One day I told him that he only cared about ships and war. He sprung at me like hail and hellfire.

That day I learned that he didn’t like it when people assumed things about him.

______

I don’t understand his embroidery. It’s slow, the colors are limited and he’s very pedantic about his shapes. It seems like a rich man’s hobby. There is no art in it.

______

The first mistake I made was seeing his skin in the moonlight. The second was seeing him shiver. I didn’t know a man like him could shiver. He always seemed like he vibrated faster than life and life couldn’t touch him for it. But he felt cold in my city, lost one evening wandering the meandering waterways and caught unawares by the sea breeze.

There was pleading in his eyes when he asked me to take him home.

______

Rome is the heart of my brother but Venice is my heart. Him and my brother have struck an odd kind of friendship. They bonded over their crude words and avoidance of the world. Always acting like someone is out to get them. And like they’re larger than life for knowing that. Seeing through fate, always expecting the bad things because there is nothing but bad things waiting ahead. It’s a very ugly way of living.

______

He discovered the heart of my city one day.

The way surprise colored his features when he saw the beauty around him - surprised to see one good thing among all the bad things that always crowded his tainted vision. Did he always react like that to it? Like he was seeing it for the first time?

That naive awe poured like poison into my veins and I couldn’t fight it.

______

He doesn’t realize his precious thing loves him back but I’ve decided I’d sooner die than tell him that.

______

My body is made for pleasure and good things. I abhor war because it refused to give me the thrill it seduced all the others with. It made me indifferent to the calls of conquering foreign land. I fell behind my peers.

But I could never find logic in not fearing war.

When I think about him relishing and flourishing in it I want to grab him and hold his head below the waterline. He’d probably laugh and drown just to spite me.

______

You can still see the echo of a military uniform on his form. Whatever happens he retains the body of a soldier. It sticks to him regardless of the flow of time and no clothes can hide that fact. They only crawl over him in embarrassment, knowing that they can’t do anything about it.

That’s another thing I dislike about him. The way his clothes look so awful on him. It’s hard to wrap my head around his history when I’m sure a royal cloak would run away in terror if it was ever faced with the prospect of adorning his shoulders. I know he was great once. And terrifying.

I’ve trembled in fear of him more than once.

But now I look at his suit and I just want to tip the boat over.

______

I hate it but I can only assume he’ll look better with his clothes off. There’s no possibility of him looking worse than what he already looks like. So I can only think about him without them.

______

Today I came face to face with the soldier inside him and I hated it. Once he steps into that form-fitting mold he’s in control of everything around him. His presence commands, demands and demeans all at once and I hate how he can do it in my city.

He could probably do it on the moon if he wanted.

It’s like his whole presence changes shape and reality warps around him. Stern honey voice, denser than molasses. No chink or crack or hollow in it. Not a single grain of space.

He could say the word and rock walls would bow before him. Just like the seas did once.

______

I hate every line of that perfectly curved spine. I’ve never hated perfection in the human body but he takes it and he uses it against others. His best moments are selfish, a weapon for his own benefit; his greatness isn’t meant to be shared or to make happy, he could spread all the propaganda he wants to every corner of his empire but his motives are as selfish as they always were. He doesn’t understand sharing happiness. To him greatness can only be hoarded for oneself.

This is probably how he accumulated so much in the past. Taking and taking and having nowhere to give. I almost pity him.

(He tried to pour out all of it on his precious thing once. And he almost suffocated it.)

______

I hate my brother for pointing out that red looks good against his skin. I hate how I take my easel out without even thinking.

The wine of my country is inferior to few. And like any other exquisite ware it speaks to his innate greed for riches. There are a few hours where I feel gleefully powerful watching him spiral down into drunkenness but then it’s over and he’s asleep against the cushions of the chaise lounge.

I lament I won’t be able to paint his eyes.

The suit is banished. The silks are draped just right. He stirs but doesn’t wake so I stand there and my brush dances. A magpie trying to snatch the tiniest jewel from a crown too heavy (and garish) for my wings. Then a cloud unveils the moon and something flashes. A jewel eye is looking at me.

I was taught there are some kinds of greed one shouldn’t indulge.

But he brings out the worst in me.


End file.
